Page 11 of Bound to the Fae Assassin

How could she have been so stupid?

He considered himself her baking guinea pig. Of course he had tried the shortbread.

And she’d been minutes from trying it herself…

Fear filled her veins with ice, and she screamed his name again.

A low moan came from the storeroom.

She ran toward the sound, her heart in her mouth, knowing what she was going to find before she found it.

The scent of sickness reached her nose before her eyes could take him in.

Jericho lay on the floor in a pool of blood and vomit. He was curled into a fetal position, his eyes squeezed shut.

But he was alive. Thank the stars.

Farrow moved to him, crouching by his side.

“I’m here, Jericho,” she whispered, trying her best to keep calm. “I’m so sorry. I have to get you help.”

The sound of the bell on the front door reached her as she stood.

“Farrow?” her father’s voice boomed.

“Back here, Da,” she shouted. “Jericho needs help.”

As her father strode in, she jogged out.

“Farrow,” her father said worriedly.

“I’m going to fetch the doctor,” she told him quickly, not stopping to explain. “Sit with him.”

To his credit, her father did as she asked without question.

As soon as she reached the street, she began to sprint.

Chapter 7

Farrow

Farrow blinked at the doctor as he stood over Jericho, unable to believe what the man was saying.

Doctor Lin was young, younger even than her own parents. To many in the village, who had grown used to the old doctor, with his milky eyes and shaking hands, this strong, clear-eyed man seemed scandalously inexperienced. And his modern ideas about medicine frightened more than a few of them.

Doctor Lin had studied medicine at the academy in the capital. In his time there, he had picked up many strange ideas about hand washing and hygiene that left the village elders scratching their heads. He also carried a bag with suspicious tools and vials of pale powders with effects too close to magic for some to trust.

But Farrow wasn’t afraid of him. To her, it seemed that his mind must be filled with modern ideas and fresh possibilities.

Jericho needed that. He needed the best there was, and Farrow was grateful to be able to get this doctor to his side so quickly.

Or at least she had been.

“What?” she breathed stupidly.

“I’m afraid there is no hope for the boy,” the doctor repeated quietly, his hand still stroking Jericho’s back with a steady, calming movement. “The best thing we can do is make him comfortable. We should get him off this floor and put him on something soft.”

“There’s nothing more you can do?” Farrow asked, feeling desperate. “No antidote for the poison?”

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